Something Wicked
by Jazza-44
Summary: Something new with a piece of th puzzle missing makes to be frustrating for our dear detective. He knew there was another in the world just as brilliant as he, Sherlock Holmes. He just never expected it to be a woman. Even less did he expect it to be a woman who could incite such delicious feelings to rush through his veins.
1. Something New

_**There was another just as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes, and he knew this…he just never expected it to be a woman. Even less did he expect it to be a woman who could incite such delicious feelings to rush through his veins.**_

**Chapter One: Something New**

"I said: 'Could you hand me a pencil?'" Sherlock's gravelly voice caused John to jump as he entered the living-room.

John paused for a moment, confused. "Wh…when was this?"

"Oh," Sherlock paused. "About an hour ago."

John rolled his eyes "Didn't notice I'd gone out then…again."

"Apparently not…and could you stop doing that? I need things passed to me." Sherlock replied with an air of dexterity.

"Well, you also need groceries." John ranted.

"Which we now have plenty of, and then some, thanks to Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock stated; an inflection in his voice John couldn't quite pick as Sherlock caught the pencil John had thrown at him…without looking. "Now, do shut-up…oh, and hand me my phone."

John looked around half-heartedly. "Where is it?"

"With the bag of toes in the fridge I would imagine…I don't remember picking it up after placing them in there." Sherlock sighed and leant back into his armchair, deep in thought.

"Why…no, not even going to…" John trailed off as he took Sherlock's phone to him.

Sherlock jumped in the air as his phone buzzed in his hand, elated. "John, get your coat! We're needed!" he laughed wickedly. "The game is on!"

"What? Sherlock!" John yelled as he pulled his jacket on and raced down the stairs of 221B Baker Street. "Sherlock! What is it?!"

"Something new, John," Sherlock grinned as he hailed and slid gracefully into a cab. "Something _fantastically_ new!"


	2. Someone New

Sherlock and John waltzed into the police department, Sherlock looking as if he owned the place, John wondering if he actually did in some small capacity. D.I. Lestrade saw them instantly and guided them through to an interrogation room. They watched through an observation window. There was one of the convicted killers, cuffed to a chair, and an unknown woman.

John gaped at her…she was bloody gorgeous, she was! "John, you may want to close your mouth now…it's just a female."

"She's not police…" John said dumbly.

"Obviously." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him.

"What's she doing in there, then?" John continued to stare.

"She was recommended to us from Sydney, Australia. A place called Camden." Lestrade replied, reading through a file in his hand.

"Camden's in London…" John started.

"Yeah, well, there's one in Australia too." Lestrade sighed, exasperated.

"Wait, you said recommended." Sherlock turned to Lestrade.

"Yes." Lestrade looked back at Sherlock, confused.

"Recommended for what?" John asked before Sherlock could, who glared at him and then at her.

"Well, according to everyone I spoke to…she's um…" Lestrade paused.

"She's what?" Sherlock all but yelled.

"She's like you." Lestrade finally replied as he looked back at the woman through the window. A young woman who was now beating his convicted killer senseless. "Shit!"

They all ran into the interrogation room as the young woman hit the tied murderer and screamed at him, "You will tell me why you _killed_ _her_! And you'll tell me why _I'm_ _next_!"

"Get her off him, for Christ's sake!" Lestrade shouted as John lifted her away from the man and carried her out of the room.

"You sick bastard! I'll see you hang for what you've done! You hear me?! I'll see you hang!" she screamed as the door shut behind John.

Sherlock flicked a switch next to the window to hear what was being said in the room. The man was explaining why she'd reacted the way she had. "All I asked her was if she fancied a final fuck before she died…she is next, after all. The world's only _female _consulting detective turned me down…bloody frigid virgin… and she's going to die…"

Sherlock flicked the sound off again and turned towards John and the now calmed down young woman, sitting opposite. "You're next." Sherlock stated blankly, kneeling down in front of her. "He said you're next…why?"

The young woman glared at the man through the glass. "I don't know."

Sherlock wanted to question her further, but John shook his head. "Who are you?"

"Sorry…" she tore her gaze from the observation window to look at John. "I'm Anna."

"No." Sherlock said sharply.

"What?" she looked at him curiously.

"That's not your name." Sherlock replied casually.

"It is…it's just short for Annabelle." She smiled softly. "But everyone just calls me Anna."

John smirked with satisfaction up at Sherlock. "You…you got something wrong."

"Well, there's always something." Sherlock turned away. How had he been wrong? Something was off _'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds,' _John's voice echoed inside his head._ '__What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.'_


	3. Something Telling

John stomped up the stairs of 221B Baker Street with that day's paper. The police had finally linked an earlier victim of the current crime ring in London, now known as The Atoners. God knew why they picked _that _lousy name. But pick it they had and, now the people of London had a name for them, they were even more terrified.

As John continued his ever slower trudge into their flat, he noticed Sherlock composing again. He'd said it helped him think and John normally wouldn't have thought anything of it, but the open files and photographs scattered hap-hazardly across the floor and furniture made him curious.

"Bad day?" John asked as he began to look at the accumulated files around him. "You've been productive."

"Why is it the more I look at the facts, the less I seem to know?" Sherlock mumbled.

"What?" John almost laughed. "That… that is a first, Sherlock. It… are these…_all_ on Anna?"

"She's involved somehow. She's clever…covered her tracks well…" Sherlock continued to mumble to himself.

"Okay," John sighed. "When did you last sleep?"

"The day before Anna…" Sherlock came out of has reverie instantly. Turning sharply on the spot and pointing his violin bow at John's head. "Do not touch those! Everything is where it should be!"

"Okay, sorry," John stepped back from the files he'd been perusing. "She's clean, by the way… Lestrade checked her out too…"

Sherlock's head snapped up. "Then how…" he paused, then clapped his hands together excitedly. "Oh, that's clever! Is it clever? Why is it clever?"

John rolled his eyes. "C'mon."

Sherlock looked down at him, confused. "Where are we going?"

"You," John replied as he dragged the detective to his room and shoved the detective down onto his bed. "Are going to sleep."

"Argh! Sleep is boring." Sherlock grumbled as he sat on the edge of his bed. "This is far more fascinating than sleep. Don't you see? She's more connected than people realise…something to do with the first victim."

"The guy the police only just linked with this case?" John rubbed his eye in frustration, trying to make sense of his flat mate's ranting's.

"Yes!" Sherlock yelled. "Don't you see?!"

"No." John rubbed his eyes again. "And neither do you. Go to sleep."

Sherlock watched John leave the room, slamming his door shut as he went. He lay down, but not to sleep. No. his thoughts were plagued by the ever intriguing Anna Chavinski …

The door burst open again and John entered, clearly irritated.

"You know what your problem is, Sherlock?" John ranted. "You don't know you a good thing when you see it!" he paused for a moment before storming out again and yelling, "You _like _her!"

Sherlock stood and moved to the window, frowning slightly. "No," he spoke softly, to himself. "No, that's not it…"


	4. Something Missing

**Chapter Four: Something Missing**

"Okay, so what do we know?" Lestrade asked Anderson as Sherlock strode into the room.

Anderson shifted uncomfortably, but answered. "The killer-"

"Killers." Sherlock corrected.

"What?" Lestrade looked to Sherlock, confused.

"There are three killers. All of them are working together, pooling their resources. Guns, knowledge, thugs, etcetera." Sherlock sighed, irritated that they hadn't already known this. "Please tell me you've heard of 'The Atoners'.?" Sherlock rolled his eyes as everyone nodded. I don't mean from recently. Everyone knows who they are. All they needed was access to Google." He continued as he took Lestrade's laptop and typed vigorously. "The Atoner's, Crime syndicate, just finished a _huge _scam in America."

"The man we captured isn't American." Anderson sneered. "He's-"

"Australian." Anna's voice made everyone jump. Everyone, except Sherlock. "He was part of UNESCO until he went rogue and joined the two Americans." She winked at Sherlock. "Sorry, had to but in before he got something else wrong."

"Who? Sherlock?" Lestrade laughed.

"No," Anna smirked. "Anderson."

...

"Okay, so there're three killers…one of which we have in custody." Lestrade looked up from the profiles Anna had made up for him.

"Yeah…keep an eye on him…" Anna frowned. "He's a slippery one to hold onto."

"Who are they targeting…and why?" John asked, setting down a tray of fresh coffees.

"They're trying to take out anyone who could identify them." Sherlock stated bluntly.

"Mhmm." Anna nodded. "First, Benjamin Soyer. British naval soldier. Tried to turn in their whereabouts. He was half way through telling British secret service when he was shot…the shooter was never found."

"Second, Mia Romano. Russian forensic psychologist. Began, quite successful, to give psychological profiles to each killer."

"She also knew the case well." Lestrade put in and earned himself a silencing glare from Sherlock.

"Third, Tessa Leonard. Journalist, who had the misfortune to be taken hostage… whilst photographing the three leaders, and killers, of The Atoner's. She was obviously killed because she had seen their faces…" Sherlock continued.

"Yes, well, unknown to the killers, she sent those photos to someone before they took her hostage." Anna said as she leant against the wall of Lestrade's office.

"She did?" John looked up at her, looking a little muddled.

"Yes." Anna replied blankly.

"To whom?" Lestrade seemed eager for any helpful information.

Anna pulled a photo packet out of her coat and thumped it down on his desk, between Lestrade and Sherlock. "Me."

Sherlock's voice became very low as he spoke again. "That's why they're after you. Fourth, Annabelle, Anna," he amended quickly. "Chavinski. You're the one who caught the first of the three killers. Therefore, she has to go…"

"I'm standing _right _here." Anna sighed, irritated. "Yes, that'd be why they'd want me gone. Then, once everyone's out of the way, they'd try to disappear." She stopped, frowning. "And they'd probably succeed too."

"Right then," Lestrade stood and made a motion to someone outside his office. "We need to get you into protective custody."

"Why?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Sod that!" Anna nearly yelled. "I've been fine on my own for two years whilst working on this, and I won't have anyone trailing after me because it'll only raise the chances of someone getting killed."

"You have no way to protect yourself!" Lestrade argued.

"If I can floor you, can I go?" Anna snapped and Lestrade took an involuntary step back. "Because, I can assure you, Detective Inspector, I _can _do it."

With an irritated sigh, Lestrade sat down again. "Fine, you can go."

"Thank-you." Anna smiled sweetly once more as she spun on the spot and waltzed towards the door.

"Wait… where are you going?" John called after her.

"To do a little digging." Anna replied as she stuck her head back through the door and grinned. "Don't fret doctor."

Then, with a wink at Sherlock, she was gone. He gazed after her, hands steepled in thought. There was still something missing…


	5. Someone Deadly

**Chapter Five: Someone Deadly**

Heavy, erratic footfalls bounced off the walls of the narrow, dimly lit back-allies of London. Desperate, hard breathing being drowned out by the brutish shouts of pursuers, shadows dancing in what little light there was.

Anna looked over her shoulder as she heard a particularly shocked shout; one of her pursuers had fallen, tumbling at least two others in the process. She grinned wickedly, laughing to herself as she sprinted away, jumping several crates, out into Havana Street…

She took a moment to regain her bearings, remembering that Baker Street was only a few blocks away. She heard her pursuers throwing crates out of their way in an attempt to reach her. Again, Anna grinned and sprinted off, this time…towards Baker Street, 221B Baker Street to be precise, and to a particularly puzzling man.

She prayed he would help her…

**...**

Sherlock listened, as the cabby began to slow as it turned onto Baker Street, to John prattling on about some idea he'd had to do with the case. He'd already deduced that his only friend was wrong in his assumptions and moved on to more interesting avenues of thought. The conundrum of Anna crossed his mind as they pulled up. Maybe John had been right…was he developing feelings for this girl? He frowned at the step in front of their flat as John rifled through his keys. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Would he ever get the right one?

**...**

'_They're far enough behind that this could work…_' Anna thought, not quite sure what her plan was yet.

She turned onto Baker Street, running as hard and fast as she could. As she looked ahead, she saw John and Sherlock unlocking their front door. She could hear her pursuers getting nearer again. They couldn't find her with them…they'd be killed.

"Oi!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, pulling off the mask she wore as she got closer to 221B Baker. She stopped as she got to them, her breath coming in harsh gasps as she leant against the fence.

"Anna?" John asked, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I won't be in a minute." She replied, looking behind her anxiously, the shouts of her pursuers getting closer to the turning onto Baker Street. She looked at John, an idea flickering through her mind. "You inside," she whipped her own coat off and shoved it, and the mask, into his hands, shoving him through the door. "I'll explain, but go!"

John narrowed his eyes slightly, but complied and closed the door as she turned to Sherlock. "Hide me with your coat…and just go with it!"

Sherlock looked at her with wide eyes. "Wha-"

Anna cut him off, pulling him down to her, kissing him passionately. Sherlock grabbed and pushed her against doorframe, wrapping his coat around her frame, effectively hiding her from view. Sherlock found himself _actually _kissing her back as men shouting obscenities ran past their little moment, and presumed them to be the people she'd been running from.

Sherlock found he liked this feeling…his lips against hers, her fingers entwined in his hair and his in hers. The kiss deepened but, all too soon, they were discovered.

"Oh, it is nice to see you finally found someone, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson said softly and the two quickly parted, Anna looking down. Mrs. Hudson gave Anna a motherly pat on the shoulder. "Don't you worry love, he's a keeper." Mrs. Hudson nodded, and then vanished back into her flat.

Sherlock and Anna looked at each other awkwardly, both more affected by the kiss than they wanted to admit.

Anna was the first to break the uneasy, yet charged, silence. "Explanation?" she asked as she looked up at him

Sherlock let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in with a huff. "Yes…" he paused and pointed at the door. "Inside?"

"Yes." Anna nodded and turned on the spot, Sherlock close behind her.

Unbeknown to the young pair, another set of eyes and a sharp mind was planning Sherlock's demise…

**...**

**Please R&R**


	6. Something Found

**Chapter Six: Something Found**

"Alright," John began as he handed Anna a mug of tea and sat down. "You wanna tell us what that was all about?"

"They…may want to kill me…" Anna looked up at them both impishly.

John started slightly. "Why?"

"Well…I took these…" Anna replied, pulling a small container from somewhere inside her shirt and placed it on the coffee table in front of them all.

Sherlock sat forward beside her. "Contact lenses."

"Yep." Anna looked back at him proudly.

"What? Explain!" John demanded.

Sherlock looked at her apologetically. "He's not as attentive as I'd like." He paused, standing and taking the lenses with him. "Go on then," he nodded towards an expectant Doctor Watson. "Explain."

"Okay," Anna smiled as she turned to John. "You remember earlier today, as you walked into Lestrade's office?" Anna paused and waited for John to nod. "He was a suspect, until they checked his eyes."

"His eyes?" John frowned. "I don't understand."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Sherlock started animatedly, "Contacts! Can't you see? That's how he was able to see the times from such a long distance. The Police ruled him out as a suspect because he couldn't read without his glasses, which he would have had to be able to do in order to organize and aid in the kidnap and killing of Tessa Leonard…the journalist!"

"Glasses? What glasses?" John asked, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender when Sherlock glared murderously at him.

"Really?" Anna raised a sceptical eyebrow at his ignorance.

A look of exasperation passed between both detectives as Sherlock continued. "There was an indent on the man's nose. Could have been a natural bend but, judging by age and weight, statistically more likely he'd been reading…and recently too, and he can only read with glasses _on_."

"How do you know he was reading?" John asked incredulously.

"By the size of the mark on the bridge of his nose." Anna replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "Quite obviously made by the section of frame that connects the lenses in glasses, so clearly reading glasses. He was more than likely checking schedules for that day."

"But there were no glasses in his office," John replied a little smugly. "I've read the report."

"Well, evidently." Anna smiled back as Sherlock cut in again.

"He would have known he'd be suspect _with_ his glasses. So, he would have either kept them at home or on his person. Judging by the case-shaped bulge in his jacket pocket, not only today but in CCTV footage from the day of the murder as well, he only thought to hide them in his jacket when the Police and investigators swarmed the place and everyone was taken in for questioning. He therefore hid his glasses and switched to contacts."

"How-"

"How could we have known about the contacts?" Sherlock smirked.

"It was staring us right in the face…literally." Anna smirked along with him.

"Are you two done?" John glowered.

Anna held up her hands apologetically. "The questioning time was recorded."

Sherlock sobered instantly when John still didn't get it. "His eyes, John. They were red, slightly glazed, a clear sign of irritation from a foreign object. He'd only just put his contacts in when the Police showed up, so his eyes would have been exceptionally sore by the time he got into questioning…just like today when he left. Red, puffy eyes, blinking rapidly and the fact that his eyes never quite focused, always drifting off and focusing on something _in front _of what he could see."

"His eyes kept focusing on the lenses." John's eyes widened slightly as he got it. "He'd put the contacts in to hide the fact he'd brought his glasses into the office with him."

"Mhmm," Anna nodded. "In the video of when he was questioned, he stated that he couldn't read a word, even if it was _right in front of his face_ without corrective lenses. And yet, he somehow knew about the Police search about to take place."

"Information we _know _had only been given to the chief of staff _that morning_." John frowned, pausing for a long moment. "So…he was in _league_ with The Atoner's?"

"Of course!" Sherlock and Anna grinned together.

"Wow…that's really _quite _brilliant." John shook his head in bewilderment, but the small smile he'd had quickly disappeared. "That means…"

"That we need to go and get him." Anna nodded as the detective paused mid-step.

Sherlock looked at his phone and promptly answered it. It could only be about the current case, otherwise he wouldn't have so readily answered, Anna noted as he hung up again having only spoken for a few seconds to the person on the other end. He leant against the door frame and turned his gaze on Anna.


	7. Something Wrong

**Chapter Seven: Something Wrong**

_Sherlock looked at his phone and promptly answered it. It could only be about the current case, otherwise he wouldn't have so readily answered, Anna noted as he hung up again having only spoken for a few seconds to the person on the other end. He leant against the door frame and turned his gaze on Anna._

"You're a consultant detective…or were, back in Australia." Sherlock stated, a slight smirk making his eyes twinkle with mischief.

"Still am." She replied hesitantly, not sure where he was going with this.

"Any good?" Sherlock asked, expression suddenly innocent.

She smirked up at him from her seat on his couch. "Very."

"Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths? Done a lot of running around after bad guys?" Sherlock shrugged and leant against the door frame.

"Well, yes." She replied casually. "Goes with the territory."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet." John put in, stretching.

She grinned. "Heaps."

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock grinned back at her as John donned his coat.

"Oh, God, yes!" she jumped up. She'd hid long enough. It was time to get the bastards!

**...**

Anna glanced sideways at Sherlock as they sat in the back of a taxi. He sighed and looked at her, turning her face to look at him fully.

Sherlock sighed, irritated. "Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah." Anna turned her eyes on Sherlock. "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock asked, adjusting his sleeves.

"Why do you trust me?" She looked up at him shrewdly.

"Why do you think?" Sherlock countered.

Anna thought for a moment. "I'd say you're curious...

"But..." he made a motion for her to continue.

"But you knew everything about me in seconds."

"_Nearly _everything." John smirked.

"Minor technicality." Sherlock snapped

"Sensitive, isn't he?" Anna grinned. "So, what are you?"

"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job."

"Pfft! No you're not. Look at me! I'm one too! And no one back in Sydney knows who you are. I'm a consulting detective, just like you." Anna chortled.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock looked at her askance, smiling slyly.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I made a deduction…would you like to know what it was?" Anna said quietly.

Sherlock smiled teasingly. "Astound me."

"I'd never seen you before but I immediately knew who and what you were. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Younger brother to Mycroft Holmes-he's _big time_ in the Government, no don't try to convince me otherwise, I've seen it. You have a number of idiosyncrasies, your most endearing being how you light up the more difficult the task is. You thrive off mystery, that's why you like the clever ones, genius fighting genius."

Sherlock sighed, bored. "Not impressed."

"Oh I was just warming up." Anna replied and smirked wickedly. "You're autistic, judging from the candency in your iris's you're at the lower end of the spectrum though."

Sherlock paused. "Okay…"

"You also have a tendency to lean away from people, so you're an introvert, but it's more than that. You lean away from women more, but only in close confinement, like now. Now we already know you're not good with close encounters, but virgin men over thirty will lean away from women in close confinement. You are either a virgin or lost said virginity in an awful experience."

Sherlock froze. "Stop…"

"Going by the change in posture and the fact you will not look me in the eye now, no matter how attractive you find me, means it was the latter but you _liked_ the person you were with." Anna folded her arms and turned away, gazing out the window casually.

"My turn." Sherlock cut in sharply, eyes narrowed at her. "You're a psychologist…but only one of your friends is one too. She died before you could catch the man you attempted to beat up whilst he was chained to a chair."

"Lestrade told you that," Anna smirked. "I heard him…come on then, Mr. Holmes. Impress a girl."

Sherlock looked down at the floor of the cab. "Forensic psychologist, you were working with your deceased friend, obviously profiling the killers for this case. You client, at the moment…is someone who disturbs you greatly, more to the point; he attacked you when you found out he was conspiring with the killers. That attack affected you so much that it's made you more introverted than people are used to from you." Sherlock looked up at Anna, eyes locked with hers. "I'm not the only one uncomfortable with close contact."

Anna nodded. "Impressive. But I think after earlier we can rule out the discomfort with close contact, don't you think?" She'd smirked, but her tone was strained slightly Sherlock noted. So she was uncomfortable about this. "Well done."

"Oh, I wasn't done." He continued; his voice low and gravelly. "You were engaged. The ring is gone, but the mark remains from where you wore it and a tan line formed. No doubt you left him when you'd had enough of him beating you senseless in his sleep."

"How could you possibly know that?" She gasped, leaning away from him.

"You sit with your hands clenched, ready to defend yourself, but the bags under your eyes from all the sleepless nights you've suffered, nightmare induced and waking up as a reaction to an act of violence that no longer occurs but terrifies you all the same."

"You were right." Anna looked down.

"_He was?_" John gaped.

"The police don't consult amateurs." She half smiled.

"That was amazing." John said, chuffed, still smirking at her last comment.

Sherlock dead-panned. "You think so?

"Of course it was. You both are. Take the compliment and shut-up."

"Thank you, John." Anna smiled gently up at him.

There was something wrong. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the two of them before turning away. "Did I get anything wrong?"

"I was engaged...and it was to a soldier." Anna replied softly.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock sighed thoughtfully.

"I didn't leave him; though you were right about the violent sleep disorder… he was murdered." Anna replied blankly.

Sherlock paused, genuinely remorseful. "I'm sorry…"

John narrowed his eyes slightly at Anna. "Who was he?"

"Benjamin Soyer …"

"Isn't he…?" John piped up again.

"The first victim…" Sherlock's head snapped up. "That's it! That's the connection! He went to turn them in, so they took care of him. Then you picked up the case! Oh! Christmas!"

"Sherlock…" John chided as he turned his glare on him.

Anna smirked. "No, it's fine…I'm just glad you got there in the end."

Sherlock stopped, looking at her, dumbfounded, whilst John laughed quietly…

**...**

**R&R my lovelies**


	8. Something Hit

**Chapter Eight: Something Hit**

Sherlock watched on as the police squad stumbled through the house, fumbling for evidence that was right in front of them. He rolled his eyes as Lestrade came to walk himself, John, and Anna onto the crime scene and mumbled the identity of the woman incoherently, she was someone called Maria Tolsoya.

Anna walked through first. "What's wrong with this picture?" he sighed at her tone, thickly sarcastic.

As he entered the second story apartment he grimaced…their 'contact lens' man really was a gruesome chap. The body of the victim was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, covered in cuts, obviously made by a large knife, and bullet holes. So, she'd been tortured.

He heard Anna gag. "What sick bastard would do this?"

"Our suspect." Sherlock replied calmly. "The size of the bullet holes are consistent with those found on the journalist, Tessa Leonard."

Anna moved around to look at the victims back, eyes widening slightly. "I think we can safely say we've got the torture weapon…" Anna pointed and Sherlock stepped around the victim. There was a twelve inch knife wedged into the poor girls' spine.

"She died from the shot to the heart." Anderson stated bluntly.

Anna moved to kneel in front of the body, searching intently. "No, she didn't…that shot would've missed the heart…" she paused and wrapped her hand around the neck of the victim, everyone jumping when she jumped back, stifling a scream. "She's not dead!"

"What?" John rushed to check the body.

"She has a pulse!" Anna continued, trying to calm herself.

John rounded on Anderson. "How could you have missed that, you idiot?! Call an ambulance! NOW!"

Anna moved back to kneel in front of the girl. "Good God…he just left her here."

"Well…she'll be alright now." John reassured unconvincingly as medics rushed her out.

Anna frowned and stood, looking around warily. "Why would he just leave her here…alive?" she turned and looked at each person still in the room, "Unless…" her eyes settled on a shadowy figure in the doorway behind a concentrating Sherlock. "He's still here!" Anna shouted as the shadowed figure raised his hand, gun glinting in the low light, aimed at… "Sherlock!"

Anna jumped forward, throwing Sherlock to the ground as their suspect fired a series of shots, hissing as one bullet grazed her side. John had pulled his gun on the shooter now and fired a warning shot. The man stumbled forward and let off another shot. This time, when John fired, he hit his target. The shooter took a bullet to his arm and thigh and went down heavily.

Sherlock looked up at Anna from their place on the floor, noting her fear and the badly concealed wince as she rolled off him.

"You okay?" she asked him as she leant against the back of a lounge.

"Fine, thank-you." He nodded briskly.

"Are you alright, Anna?" John asked as he knelt beside her.

"Yeah, fine." She replied with a pained smile. "Just a graze."

"Let me see." John demanded, lifting her shirt. She hissed as the fabric pulled away. "Sorry…" John apologised quickly, looking intently at her injury. "Okay, we'll get that dressed and you'll be right in a week." John got up and went to knick a clean bandage as the injured shooter was carted away.

Sherlock looked at her curiously as she sat, with her eyes shut tight as a ward against pain, grateful she'd acted in time. From the angle of her injury, he could tell it would have been a direct hit to his heart.

"Thank-you…" he said softly, moving to sit beside Anna and holding her hand in and aid to comfort her.

He watched Anna open her eyes slowly and smile at him sweetly through the pain. "Anytime Sherlock…anytime."

He let her head rest on his shoulder as John returned to bandage her side. Maybe his heart _had _been successfully hit...

**...**

He had been silent the whole cab-ride back to Baker Street, and now John was curious. What on Earth had he and Anna said to each other that could have rendered _Sherlock Holmes_ silent?!

Eventually, John just _had _to ask. "Alright, c'mon." he said as he and Sherlock entered the apartment, bringing the dazed detective out of his stupor. "Let's have it."

"Have what?" Sherlock asked, frowning, as he flopped down onto the lounge.

"What conclusion have you come to about the case, or Anna, that has you barely saying two words together." John remained standing, ready to leave if Sherlock began to throw one of his classic tantrums.

"Pfft…the case was easy. Solved. They just have to catch the buggers now." Sherlock replied as he leant his head back and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, what?" John's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Did you just refer to a criminal sect as '_buggers'_?"

"Yes. Why?" Sherlock asked, eyes still closed.

"You _never _become so involved in a case that you _insult _the people we're after…" John paused, regarding his friend carefully. "Okay, is this new silence inspired by the fact that the shooter-"

"Henry Lowes." Sherlock stated bluntly.

"Yes, Henry Lowes, took a shot at Anna?" John gauged Sherlock's reaction carefully.

"He took a shot at me." Sherlock's eyes opened, glaring at the ceiling.

"Alright, that she took a bullet for you then?" John shrugged and continued.

"It barely grazed her side." Sherlock half growled.

"A little further over and she could have died saving you, Sherlock!" John reasoned. "How can you be so cold, so…_clinical_ about an act of bravery or affection or whatever it was that possessed her to push you out of the way and into the path of the bullet?!"

"You _know _why she did it." Sherlock's gaze fixed on John.

John nodded slowly. "Yes…I do."

"Go on then." Sherlock mimicked. "Tell me what you know, what you've seen…tell me how she feels and confirm my deductions about her."

"Oh, for God's sake!" John pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed. "She _loves_ you, Sherlock! I'd go so far to say that she's even _more _in love with you than Molly Hooper!"

Sherlock closed his eyes, a small smile ghosting across his sharp features. "Ah, and you think this makes her noble? That she'd give up her life gladly to save mine, in the name of love?"

"Of course it bloody does!" John fumed.

"Did you ever consider, John, that I might do the same for her?" Sherlock eyed him curiously. "That I might…_love her too_?"

"Love?" John scoffed, then sobered. "You know the meaning of the word, but you will never know what that feels like."

"Why do you believe that?" Sherlock asked, befuddled slightly at his friends reaction.

"Because you don't feel! You can't feel!" John shouted, obviously confused by Sherlock's admitting he could feel at all.

"I do feel!" Sherlock shouted back, but that only made John raise his voice again.

"You told me feelings are useless!"

"They are! But that doesn't mean I don't have them!" Sherlock explained, exasperated.

"So…what?" John shrugged. "You're _in love_ with her?"

Sherlock paused, eyes blazing. "Yes…yes, I am."

"You are?" They heard Anna's soft voice. Both men looked towards the direction of her soft voice; she was standing, very still, in their doorway, eyes fixed on Sherlock.

Sherlock fixed his sharp, blue eyes on Anna as he replied, "Yes… as conflicting and bewildering an idea it might be," he paused, a small smile flickering across his features. "And how inconvenient it is on _both _sides…I am in love with you."

**...**

**Hello again fellow Sherlockians and Cumberbitches! Sorry I took so long to update, but here it is! I hope you enjoy it! It was bloody hard to write correctly! **

**Much love,**

** Jazza-44**

**R&R my lovlies!**


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